


The Cyber Sphere

by jacaranda_bloom



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Artificial Intelligence, Best Friend Liam, Blow Jobs, Bottom Louis, Dermot is 32, Fluff, Hand Jobs, Kissing, M/M, Radio Host Dermot, Recluse Louis, Rich Louis, Rimming, Smut, Strangers to Lovers, TV Presenter Dermot, Technology, Twitter, Writer Louis, louis is 28
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-15
Updated: 2019-06-15
Packaged: 2020-05-12 07:32:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19224550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jacaranda_bloom/pseuds/jacaranda_bloom
Summary: As the author of The Cyber Sphere, a series of best-selling books which have spawned seemingly limitless spin-offs, Louis Tomlinson hides away from the world in his fortress-like London penthouse. But when he decides to interact with the host of The Cyber Times radio program, Dermot O’Leary, on Twitter, it causes a fandom meltdown and offers him hope for a future he’d never imagined.OR the one where Liam likes to think he’s Batman, Dermot has terrible taste in sporting teams, and Louis should really get a cat.





	The Cyber Sphere

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my first non-Larry fic and let me tell you, it's been a wild ride. I really wanted to step outside of my Larry writing bubble and this fest was the perfect opportunity to do that.
> 
> I really do hope people give this fic a go. I know it's not Larry and I know that's not everyone's cup of tea, I do get it, but I never thought I'd write anything other than Larry and look at me now!
> 
> When I was trying to think of a rare pair to write about I knew Louis would be the main character - he's my go-to after all - but coming up with the other half of the pair was certainly a challenge. I really liked their interactions on X Factor and Dermot seems like a genuinely nice guy, he's funny, and compassionate and cheeky and he seemed liked a really good compliment for Louis.
> 
> So anyway...
> 
> Thank you to the mods for arranging this fest - super organised and professional the whole way through.
> 
> To my beautiful, patient, brilliant, encouraging cheerleaders/beta’s [ Rebecca ](https://runaway-train-works.tumblr.com/) and [ Nicola ](https://missytearex.tumblr.com/) \- you’re both such an inspiration to me and kept me going when I thought I would throw the entire story to the gutter. 
> 
> The manip of Louis and Dermot is by the immensely talented [ Isa ](https://whenthebodiesspeak.tumblr.com/), who also made all the tweets and messages, and the mood board is by the lovely [ Nicola ](https://missytearex.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Here's the [ Tumblr fic post ](https://jacaranda-bloom.tumblr.com/post/185608839458/the-cyber-sphere-by-jacaranda-bloom-explicit) if you feel like giving it a reblog. 💜
> 
> Thank you for reading and I really hope you enjoy this.
> 
> Dee  
> xx

“You’re an asshat!!” Louis shouts and throws a handful of popcorn at the screen. “How much are they fucking paying you?!” Jeers and boos sound out from the crowd who are clearly in agreement with Louis’ assessment of the referee's atrocious decision. It’s dismal and disappointing and frustrating and Louis doesn’t honestly think he can watch any more. It’s a shit game anyway, not like it’s his team, he’s just biding time until he can reasonably go to bed without it feeling like he’s an old man at twenty-eight.

 

“Sid, turn this shit off.”

 

“Yes, Louis. Game off.” Sid says as the television screen goes black and a welcome silence fills the room.

 

Sid - S.I.D. - is Louis’ ‘So I Don’t’ artificial intelligence program. ‘So I Don’t’ have to talk to other people. ‘So I Don’t’ have to leave the house. ‘So I Don’t’ have to engage on any level, with anyone, ever, unless he wants to. Which, for the record, he rarely does.

 

Louis had built and refined his artificial neural network intelligence program over many years and the prototype, Sid, is now his constant companion. There are still a few glitches here and there, and Sid still has a lot to learn, but it does Louis just fine.

 

Louis grabs his nearly empty bowl of popcorn and wanders over to the mess he’s made on the carpet, kneeling down and picking the puffed corn kernels out of the thick rug. It’s a shag pile. So what. He can have a little throwback to the seventies if he likes, and he likes very much.

 

“Alert. BBC Radio Seven. The Cyber Times. Commencing in four minutes. Would you like to listen?”

 

“Yeah alright. Let’s see what that idiot, Damo, has to say for himself tonight. More conspiracy theories, no doubt.”

 

“Probability is high.”

 

Louis gets up from the floor and pads over to the kitchen as the sound of the radio streams through the speakers, dumping the rest of the popcorn into the bin and rinsing the bowl in the sink.

 

The Cyber Times. So yeah, that’s a thing. An entire radio broadcast dedicated to a fictional world based on his four novels. His. And it isn’t the only such broadcast. Louis is the best selling author of a cyber-thriller series, The Cyber Sphere, that was made into an immensely successful movie franchise. Add to that, numerous spin-offs, comic books, merchandise, conventions, a Netflix series currently in the works, and more radio and TV shows, online communities, and conspiracy theories than he could have ever imagined. It’s a brand, and a very lucrative one, at that.

 

It had started as just some silly musings after he’d dreamt of a world where artificial intelligence had been taken to scary levels. He’d churned out the first novel in a little over a year and it had been picked up by a publishing house almost immediately. It was a right-time, right-place, perfect-storm kind of thing. By the time he’d finished the second novel, the movie rights were being negotiated and he was signed on for two additional novels, with an option for two more, which he signed on the dotted line for last year.

 

He loves the writing, loves the process, loves building and developing the universe and characters, pushing the envelope with his tech and AI. Writing about what can’t yet be created in the real world, but he’s getting there.

 

Louis had been working on S.I.D when he started writing the first novel and the ridiculous money he’s paid now allows him to make his dreams a reality, well, some of them.

 

His wealth also allows him some sense of anonymity, or ‘mystery’, as the legions of Cyber refer to it. He’s been careful to construct a life where he can limit his exposure to the outside world. Too many fans and too many people wanting a piece of him, wanting to know what the future is for his characters, whether there will be a sequel, desperate for every intricate thought or idea or morsel of the plot.

 

But here, in his fortress-like penthouse apartment, the entire top floor of The Eclipse, a high-rise residential skyscraper in central London, he’s detached. It’s a strange existence, towering over the rest of the world, isolated, whilst being in one of the most vibrant cities on the planet.

 

He has everything he needs to live his life; a spacious home, a lap pool, a gym, an enclosed rooftop garden, and all the tech and gadgetry he could ever want. Everything is brought to him, rarely needing to leave the security of his bubble. And he writes. And writes. He’s happy. He is. Mostly.

 

The news break on the radio comes to an end and the tacky intro music starts for The Cyber Times. Predictably, it’s all synths and creepy techno with a smattering of computer sounds. Louis rolls his eyes as the announcer starts to speak.

 

“ _Sheesh. Reckon that theme music could do with an update._ ” The announcer, clearly not Damo, says and wait… what?

 

“Sid. Voice analysis,” Louis instructs, wiping his hands on the tea towel and walking towards his screen bank.

 

“Voice analysis. Dermot O’Leary,” Sid says as the announcer, Dermot apparently, continues his lead-in.

 

“Bio thanks, Sid.”

 

“Dermot O’Leary. Legal name, Sean Dermot Fintan O'Leary Junior. Thirty-two years old. Born in Colchester, North Essex, England to Irish parents Seán and Maria. Better known as Dermot O'Leary, a British-Irish television presenter for ITV and a radio DJ for BBC Radio Seven.”

 

Louis sits down at his control center, twelve screens mounted on the wall where Sid is presenting biographical information, newspaper articles, and videos across various screens in front of him.

 

He tunes back into the radio broadcast as he scans the data. “ _And yes, dear Cyber fans, I’m looking after things while our dear Damo is lazing about at home recovering from his emergency appendectomy. Nasty business, that. Well wishes and muffin baskets and day spa vouchers can be sent here to the station and I promise to pass them on… No really._ ”

 

This is... different. Louis doesn’t mind a bit of different. This guy actually seems to be a bit of alright, Louis ponders as he flicks through screen upon screen of articles. Charity work with kids, raising money for cancer research, red carpet events, and some sort of weird obsession with mountain biking, but everyone has their flaws, Louis can forgive him that. Plus, he’s not too hard on the eye. Strong and broad and more than capable of filling out a suit nicely.

 

“ _Damo assures me that this show practically runs itself, so I’m going to open the lines shortly, but first, what topic should we talk about this evening? I’m putting it out there into the la la land of social media. Hit me up on Twitter, at The Cyber Times, and we’ll see where you all want to wander off to for the next hour. While we wait to see what dark corner of The Cyber Sphere world we’re going to crawl into, here’s something to get us in the mood. I think a bit of Green Day is in order._ ”

 

The opening bars of Jesus of Suburbia flood Louis’ ears. Nice call. This is sounding promising.

 

Louis isn’t a narcissist. Not really. He’s very protective of his work and the world he created in his books so he likes to keep abreast of what’s going on. He’s also working on the fifth novel, so he’s keen to see where fans are interested in the stories going. As a consultant for most of the other related projects in development, he also needs to ensure the audience will remain engaged, even when the main focus is splintered off on various tangents. It may be a brand, but it’s his brand.

 

“ _And that was Green Day’s, Jesus of Suburbia, always a good way to prepare yourself to wade into the dangerous world of Twitter. Right, let’s see what we’ve got. Wow. Some of this is quite... disturbing. Uhm…_ ”

 

“You’re telling me, mate,” Louis mutters.

 

“ _Okay. Harriet at CyberLife23 wants to talk about the possibility of the onscreen code in the four movies being a cipher that will lead to determining the end of the world. Well thanks for your suggestion Harriet, but I think that’s a bit heavy for my first night to be honest. Next! Ahhh, Fonz at SphereFortress thinks we should discuss the underlying theme of world domination by technology and the lack of social awareness of the destruction of real human interaction. You know, sometimes I miss the old one hundred and forty character limit on Twitter. Sorry Fonz. Not tonight._ ”

 

Louis has heard it all before. Secret messages buried in the text, code to create doomsday programs, the answer to humankind’s most burning questions. As if he knew anything about shit like that when he bashed out the first of these self-indulgent stories, he was barely out of teenagehood at the time and high for most it, too, very, very high.

 

“ _What else have we got? I’m scrolling, and scrolling, and scrolling… Hold up. Okay, this one is kind of interesting. GladRags at WhoIsLouisT wants to talk about the much beloved, and ever mysterious, creator of The Cyber Sphere, Louis Tomlinson. Now that’s something I can definitely get on board with. GladRags poses the question, what does a day in the life of Louis Tomlinson look like? Well GladRags, you’re our topic winner for this evening. I’ll open the lines and keep the Twitter feed up. Fire away! While we wait for the chaos to begin, oh… wait, I see it already has, be nice Twitter land. Anyway, I’ll chuck another track on and answer some calls, here’s a bit of Arctic Monkeys for your listening pleasure._ ”

 

Mardy Bum starts and Louis thinks he may have met his musical soulmate. This guy is on point. Who the fuck is he? The topic is a bit mundane though, but harmless enough. There have been countless articles written about him over the years - the recluse, the madman, the fake, that he didn’t write the books and is just a hired stooge to mollify the fans and provide a target for their incessant curiosity.

 

This Dermot fellow, on the other hand, is far more intriguing. A video catches his eye and he brings the sound up. It’s of Dermot hosting some charity special on ITV last year if the date on the post is correct. He’s talking with a family, the young girl is in a wheelchair, a tube coming from her nose. Poor little thing. Dermot talks to her for a bit and Louis notices a small boy, her brother presumably, standing off to the side, looking nervous and excluded from the situation. Louis thinks he probably feels like that a lot, the focus being on his sister, who is clearly unwell, and certainly deserving of the attention, but it’s gotta be tough for him.

 

The interview ends and another presenter steps in front of the camera, talking about donation lines and what’s coming up after the break. Louis is about to move on to another video when he notices Dermot moving over to the brother in the background of the shot. He crouches down, the boy eyeing him warily before he starts giggling at something Dermot has said. Dermot sits down on the ground, leaning up against the wall and the boy follows suit as Dermot pulls his phone out of his pocket. The rest of the family is focussing on the other presenter while Dermot is showing the boy something on his phone and they’re both laughing. It’s lovely. Louis’ heart swells a bit and then the footage cuts off.

 

” _And that was Mardy Bum. Such a tune. Okay. We have our first victim on the line. Katie, from east London. What say you on our topic for this evening?_ ”

 

“ _Hiiiii Dermot! This is so cool. Uhm, so, firstly, I just wanna say that I think Louis Tomlinson is the true author of the books._ ”

 

“ _Alright. Good news for Mr. Tomlinson, I guess._ ”

 

“ _Ahh, yeah. Anyway. So I think he spends his days writing and he’s probably, like, creeping on Twitter and Instagram and stuff. I just know he’s got loads of fake accounts. I swear, this one time, I was chatting to this person on Twitter and it just_ had _to be him. Like, they just knew stuff they couldn’t have known. You know?_ ”

 

“ _So, let me get this straight. You think Louis Tomlinson,_ the _Louis Tomlinson, just slid into your DM’s and started talking about conspiracy theories?_ ”

 

“ _Yeah. For sure. I mean. Why wouldn’t he? I would if I was him. It’d be so cool._ ”

 

“ _Okay. Well, thanks for sharing your thoughts, Katie. Best let you get back to your Twitter DM’s in case Louis drops by._ ”

 

Louis chuckles, it’s not like she’s wrong. Although he doubts he’s chatted to Katie specifically, it is something he’s done in the past, always using a fake account, of course, when he was stuck on a plot point or wanted to get a read on a potential character arc. But he hasn’t directly interacted for a long while.

 

Louis gets up and makes his way back over to the kitchen, filling the kettle and popping it on to boil. He picks up his mug from the sink and rinses it out, grabbing a tea bag from the pantry and the milk from the fridge.

 

“ _Next up we have Donny from Doncaster, possibly not his real name. Donny, what are your thoughts on tonight’s pressing question?_ ”

 

“ _Hey, Dermot. Firstly, you’re doing a great job, the tracks you’ve been spinning are sick, man._ ”

 

“ _Thanks, Donny. Appreciation of my musical taste will get you far. You’re off to a good start._ ”

 

“ _So yeah, I reckon Louis is a cool dude, right. Sitting up high in that crazy penthouse of his. Probably a bit like a billionaire superhero._ ”

 

Louis rolls his eyes. “Aye up Donny. Not a billionaire. Not yet, anyway.” The kettle finishes boiling and he fills his mug, steam rising over the rim as he adds a splash of milk. He pops the milk back to the fridge before rounding the island bench and heading over to the lounge to relax.

 

Donny babbles on. “ _And yeah, he’s probably got a staff of people, all with NDA’s and stuff, like super top secret. And he’s working on military and government code, all for the good of humanity, ya know? He probably has these conference calls with the leaders of the world and stops evil schemes to destroy the earth or summat. Yeah. Yeah, really cool stuff._ ”

 

“ _Well, that’s certainly a unique take. Thanks for your input, Donny. Lots of interesting theories coming through on Twitter too, I see. I’m just curious though listeners... Does no one think he’s just kicking around in sweats, eating junk food and shouting at the ref on television like a regular person?_ ”

 

Louis sputters, a few drops of tea spilling onto his sweats. Well, fuck.

 

“ _No? Just me, then? Alright, when we come back from the break we’ll take a few more callers, so don’t go away._ ”

 

Louis pauses and then decides to throw caution to the wind. He gets up and goes back to his console, bringing up his Twitter feed.

 

Social media is a minefield sometimes, but he kind of loves it. He has fifty-six million Twitter followers and thirty-two million Instagram followers. God only knows why. He just tweets nonsense about football and debunks myths about The Cyber Sphere. He rarely posts on Instagram and when he does it’s mainly pictures of tech gadgetry. Cool, artsy, well-constructed images, but tech gadgetry nonetheless. The conspiracy theorists like to think he’s speaking in code and dropping hints about his upcoming work or about hidden messages left behind in his other novels. He’s not. He could, of course. But he isn’t. Maybe one day he will. His contract is iron-clad in his favour and he can pretty much do whatever the fuck he wants, but The Cyber Sphere is still a brand. He’d never want to risk damaging it, and there are a lot of people who make their living out of it, off it, around it. But yeah, he isn’t opposed to having a bit of fun if the mood ever takes him. And it appears that the mood has, in fact, taken him.

 

Louis types out a new tweet and posts it.

He sits back and waits for the carnage that is sure to follow. He wonders whether Dermot is ready for the avalanche of new listeners that are about to tune in.

 

The ad break continues, longer than it normally would have, probably. He envisages the chaos that is no doubt unfolding in the studio. Scrolling through the replies to his tweet, he chuckles as he sees people trying to work out what the fuck is going on and what he’s talking about. #sweatsarecomfortable has just started trending worldwide, so has Dermot O’Leary. Nice. He should get some attention. He seems like a good lad.

 

“ _Welcome back. And, uhm, welcome to all the new listeners that have just tuned in. Seems like things have taken quite an interesting turn in the last five minutes. For those who have yet to see, we got a cryptic mention on Twitter… Was is it cryptic though? Seemed pretty obvious to me. My very sweaty, red-faced producer in the other room, and the station director and head of legal on the phone are saying that I need to say that. Anyway, we got a_ cryptic _mention, feel free to add the air quotes for yourselves listeners, from none other than Louis Tomlinson himself. Thanks, man. I hear I’m trending on Twitter worldwide. My mum will be so proud._ ”

 

Louis laughs loudly. This guy is good.

 

“ _So I guess we now have a partial answer to what a day in the life of Louis Tomlinson looks like. Seems as though he watches footie and kicks around the house in comfy clothes just like the rest of us. I like that. Begs the question though, what other normal things does he do? Is he a tea or coffee man? Cats or dogs? Does he sleep naked? Does he brush his teeth in the shower? Does he dress to the left or to the right? Does he scroll through social media on the loo? Whoops. I’m getting a lot of waving arms and mouthed expletives from my poor producer. Okay. Uhm... “_ Dermot laughs, the evil tone crystal clear. “ _Now there’s shouting. A lot of shouting._ ”

 

Louis cackles again and brings up a new tweet, typing in the text and posting.

 

 

There’s a pause, Dermot presumably reading the answer. This is fun. He’s enjoying interacting this way. Creating a bit of harmless chaos and hysteria. Dermot’s joyous laugh rings out, a guffaw, followed by a throaty chuckle.

 

“ _Well, that’s… good to know. If you’re not all glued to your Twitter feed I can tell you that Louis has just tweeted that he is a tea man, likes both cats and dogs, doesn’t brush his teeth in the shower, dresses to the uhm… left, and scrolls through his phone while on the loo just like everyone else. Thanks, Louis. I’m going to go out on a limb and say there was absolutely nothing_ cryptic _about that, so everyone can take a bloody seat. That includes you, Graham. Graham is my producer, everyone. Hi Graham! You can’t see it, but I’m waving at him. He’s really quite cross. I think he should get his blood pressure checked, and lay off the coffee. Louis said so, after all. I’m a tea man myself. Actually, not that anyone probably cares, but my answers to those questions are exactly the same. Weird, right? Anyway, we’re going to try to and get back to the show after this next song. Any requests from our listeners?_ ”

 

Louis types out a new tweet and posts it.

 

Dermot laughs again. He’s got a great laugh. Deep and genuine. Louis would like to hear it on a regular basis.

 

“So apparently, Louis and I not only have the same caffeine intake methods and, uhh... dressing preferences,” Dermot clears his throat. Cheeky. “But we also have the same taste in music. Good to know. All of it. Okay, here’s Go Let It Out by Oasis, as requested by our very special listener, and self-professed naked-sleeper.”

 

Louis smiles. He should definitely do this more often.

  


~~~~

  


“Good morning, Louis.”

 

“Morning, Sid. How’s it hanging?”

 

“It hangs to the left, apparently.”

 

Louis chuckles as he walks into the kitchen. The humour aspect of his AI is something he’s particularly proud of. Just the right touch of wit and sass, much like himself. He yawns and opens the fridge, scratching his stomach as he decides what to make for breakfast. “You’re not gonna let that go, are you?”

 

“Probability is low.”

 

The response to his brief interaction with Dermot during last Friday night’s show had been... significant, although not unexpected. Twitter and the rest of social media had exploded, he’s pretty sure Tumblr went into some kind of meltdown and digital media had an absolute field day. It had lasted for days and there are still new articles popping up sporadically, even a week later. Questions over why now, why that radio station, why that song choice, why, why, why? Then, of course, there were the questions about why Louis had decided to interact on that particular evening, the first time Dermot had hosted the show. Did they know each other, was this a favour for a friend, were they flirting, were they dating, were they in a relationship? The conclusions seemed to stretch the full gambit from complete randomness to the assertion that they had been happily married for years and some even going so far as to deduce that this was a cleverly crafted lead-in to some kind of promotion for the next novel or movie or whatever.

 

Louis eyes some fresh strawberries and mango in the fridge and takes them out along with a tub of yogurt and the bottle of milk for his tea. He needs something solid too, so he opens the freezer and takes out his loaf of seeded sourdough, popping a couple of slices in the toaster and flicking on the kettle.

 

The thing is, after the initial flurry of adrenalin loaded excitement the interaction has caused Louis to feel, he really didn’t know what to do next. He wanted to talk to Dermot again, maybe. He wasn’t sure. It was unchartered territory. He didn’t usually talk to people, didn’t regularly engage, didn’t have friends or acquaintances, not on an ongoing basis anyway. He was more of a hit’n’run kind of guy, swooping down in stealth mode into a chat room, dipping his toe in the water, and then leaving quickly once he’d had his fill. Except for Liam, of course; lovely, kind, loyal, dependable, Liam. His rock. His best, and only true friend. His business manager too, but mainly his friend. Liam had been with him from the start, sharing a flat during uni when Louis wrote the first Cyber novel. He’d conveniently been studying law while Louis was attempting to feign interest in an English Literature degree. He’s the only person in the world Louis trusts implicitly, so it begs the question, why hasn’t he just talked to him about this? They’d discussed the event itself, of course, but not how Louis was feeling about it, nor his niggling desire to do it again. It’s not that he’s concerned about a reputational or brand impact, or anything else business related, it’s just...

 

Louis is a recluse, and all that implies. It’s not a complaint, not at all. He’s very happy in his self-imposed fortress. He likes the predictability of it, the control it allows him to have. Aside from the odd repairman or the like, only Liam, Doctor Halliwell, and Agatha, his cleaner, come into his home. He’s often thought of getting a pet. A cat most probably. A dog would want to run and play outside and that’s not practical. A cat though, they’d love it here perched high above the ground, warm sun blazing in through the double height windows, the humidity in the indoor pool room and the glasshouse effect of the rooftop garden, domed in glass.

 

Yeah, he should get a cat.

 

He spends his day pottering around, writing a bit and tinkering with the latest AI release. But the knowledge that The Cyber Times is on again this evening is never far from his thoughts. The chatter has ramped up again. Will the elusive Louis Tomlinson be back tonight? He hates the thought of being predictable but the thing is, he really wants to do it. Most of the fanbase think he won’t, and the bookies have him at pretty far-out odds to make a repeat appearance. Yes, people are actually laying bets on what he’ll do which is absurd, but it all only fuels him to prove them wrong.

 

Liam had laughed pretty hard at the whole situation, seeing the humour and cheekiness in Louis’ interaction, the press had been overwhelmingly positive, and it had given a boost to the current projects, so no one had tried to wave him off. Not that they would’ve been successful in influencing his decision.

 

It’s not that he’s desperate to maintain his ‘mysterious’ status as such, the seclusion was really just born from a time when he needed to limit physical access for his own safety and the safety of the fans; one too many incidents and near misses taught him that. Now though, he doesn’t see why a bit of interaction couldn’t be a good thing, welcome even.

 

He’d tried to put the impending show out of his mind but it niggled away all day which is how he finds himself sat on his couch, tea in hand, waiting for it to start. He’s curious, as much as anything, to see how Dermot will react. He’s gotten to know him pretty well over the course of the week with the amount of research he’s done and he’s been impressed with what he’s learned. The station had promoted the hell out of it all week, always careful to play down any possibility of a repeat, but they were clearly riding high on the audience numbers and increased attention. Dermot’s response had been to use the interest to promote his current charity efforts and it’d earned him a lot of brownie points in Louis’ book. He could’ve easily gone down the self-promotion route, and most would’ve, but he hadn’t.

 

Right on cue, Sid chimes in. “Alert. BBC Radio Seven. The Cyber Times. Commencing in two minutes. Would you like to listen?”

 

“Yup! Let’s see how the lovely Dermot fairs this week.”

 

The ad break is still going, more promo for the show, reminding listeners of last weeks interactions. Their ad earns for this week must’ve been massive as the voiceover lists the ‘brought to you by’ credits. The theme music starts and it’s still atrocious, but Louis muses that its familiarity is also nice, in a kitsch kind of way.

 

“ _Well hello, listeners. Yes. I’m back. Damo is still resting up, although his thumbs are apparently working just fine if the tirade of texts he’s sent me this week is anything to go by. Apparently, I’ve ruined his life, or stolen his life, or something equally unforgivable although it’s hard to tell with the amount of unintelligible nonsense and expletives he’s been firing at me. Don’t worry, he’s just put out that my music selections brought in so many new listeners. Yeah, I’m sure that’s it. Can’t imagine what else it would be. Nothing else happened on last week's show, did it?_ ”

 

Louis chuckles, glad to hear that Dermot appears to have retained his sense of humour given what this week must’ve been like.

 

“ _Before we go any further I’d just like to thank all the generous peeps who have donated to Alfie’s Wish, the charity I’ve been working with over the last few months. Every dollar counts and goes toward making life a little easier for children and their families who are going through difficult times dealing with the illness of a loved one. At Alfie’s Wish, they focus on the children in the family whose lives have been impacted by a brother or sister suffering from a serious illness. So, a big shout out to all those who have donated, particularly to our large, anonymous donor, whoever you are, you’re a star, you all are._ _If you’d like to donate, you can use the link in my Twitter bio, thanks again!”_

 

Louis might know a little something about that large, anonymous donation, maybe. He enjoys the philanthropic aspect of his wealth, particularly when he can see the direct impact it has on others’ lives, and this was certainly a good cause. He donates hundreds of thousands of pounds a year and spends a lot of time selecting his benefactors, not just charities either, although that does take up a sizeable percentage, he also contributes to research and development and scholarships, as well as other worthy causes as he sees fit.

 

“ _Right! Let’s get on with the show. What shall we do tonight? Oh, I see Twitter is already yelling at me. Sorry, I mean, gently suggesting ideas. And… yup, people would like me to conjure up the one and only Mr. Tomlinson again. As much as I’d love to be able to do that, if only to rile up Damo, it’s kinda not up to me. How about we just pick a topic and go from there. So hit me up Twitter! I’ll kick off our musical portion of the program with an oldie but a goodie, Well Well Well by Milburn.”_

 

Louis nods along in appreciation at yet another excellent song choice and ponders what to do. He could just do nothing, just listen in and enjoy the show, or he could step a bit further outside his comfort zone. He gets up from the couch and wanders toward his console but diverts at the last moment and goes into the kitchen setting his cup on the bench and resting his hands on the cool top. He stares at the screen with his Twitter feed up at the ready, muscles twitching, fingers drumming with the beat of the song.

 

“Fuck it,” he says as he slaps his hand on the counter and strides over to the console plonking himself down in the chair and letting it spin through a few revolutions before coming to a stop. He grabs hold of the edge of the workstation, scoots the chair underneath, and waits for the song to end.

 

“ _And that was Well Well Well by Milburn, one of their best in my humble opinion. Alrighty then, what have we got on our share plate for this evening? Some curious tweets here, people wanting to know more about the man himself, Mr. Tomlinson._ ”

 

“Sid, call BBC Radio Seven. Secured line. Clear the queue and connect,” Louis instructs.

 

“Yes, Louis, connecting you now.”

 

Louis pops on his headset. He has a proper wireless unit, not one of those stupid Bluetooth ear things that make the wearer look like a complete wanker. Not that anyone can see him, but he’d know.

 

“Hi this is Becca you’ve reached The Cyber Times,” the woman says brightly.

 

“Hi Becca, how are you this evening?”

 

“Great thanks, busy night, you’re lucky to get through, I think our phone system is... playing up a bit.”

 

Louis smiles to himself, his technical capabilities definitely have their advantages. It’s a very useful program that he wrote that overloads the IVR and causes it to reset, disconnecting all the other calls so he gets a free pass straight through.

 

“Hmmm… that is lucky. I was hoping you could connect me to Dermot.”

 

“Oh, well he’s actually on air at the moment and can’t take any calls.”

 

“Right. I see. Well, can you tell him Louis Tomlinson is on the line? I think that might change things.”

 

Becca laughs good-naturedly. “Of _course_ you are. Now, what sort of production assistant would I be if I put through everyone who claimed to be Louis Tomlinson?”

 

“Hang on Becca. Why don’t you bring up Louis Tomlinson’s Twitter feed for a moment?”

 

“Uhm… okay?”

 

“What’s your favorite song?”

 

“A Certain Romance by Arctic Monkeys but why do you…?”

 

Louis leans over the keyboard, and types out a tweet.

 

Louis hears Becca suck in a huge gulp of air. “Holy shit! I mean- what the hell?! Oh my god. Just wait, uhm... don’t hang up!”

Louis chuckles and waits patiently as he’s put on hold, the sounds of the hideous intro music blaring into his ears.

“Well well well indeed. Looks like Louis has decided to join us again this week. We’re gonna pop that song on while we all take a moment to calm down and someone grabs poor Becca a paper bag to breathe into. So, here’s A Certain Romance by Arctic Monkeys.”

The on-hold music stops and the line goes silent for a beat. “Well hello there, Louis. This is a lovely surprise. You’re not on the air at the moment but the call is being recorded, just a heads up,” Dermot says down the line and his voice is even lovelier when it’s seeping directly into Louis’ brain.

“Hey, Dermot. How’re you? And yeah, that’s cool, figured it would be. I’ll be on my best behaviour,” Louis says and settles back in his chair, kicking his feet up on the desk.

“So you’re keen to go on air then, I take it?”

“Thought that might be fun, yeah, if that’s okay with you?”

Dermot chuckles and it’s breathy and all sorts of lovely. “Reckon I could handle that. How did you want to do this?”

“Something like this maybe…” Louis says and leans over, quickly typing out a new tweet. “Check your Twitter.”

He sends it off into the universe before he can overthink it. He’s not so sure this is a smart move but it’s out there now. No going back.

Louis hears Dermot take a sharp breath. “Yeah, I think that should do it. Alright songs nearly over, you ready?”

“Yup! Hit me with it.”

“Any no-go subjects I should be aware of?”

“Yeah. Loads.” Louis laughs and he feels surprisingly comfortable. “But I trust your judgement.”

“I appreciate that, mate.” Dermot pauses, seemingly thinking about his next words. “Can I just say, your voice isn’t like I’d expected.”

“Yeah?”

“It’s softer and raspier that I thought it would be. Sounds quite… uhm… nice in my ears to be honest. But then I’m used to Graham so it’s probably an unfairly low bar.”

Louis feels a blush spread up his neck and that’s… new? He clears his throat self-consciously. “I don’t uhm… I don’t talk to many people, maybe I’m out of practice?”

He gets up and wanders back into the kitchen as the Arctic Monkeys come in for a landing, the strains of the electric guitar tapering off into the ether.

“Nah, you sound good to me. Alright, here we go.”

Louis smiles. “Be kind.”

“Always,” Dermot replies and Louis can hear the kindness in his voice, going some way toward settling the nervous energy that’s rampaging through his veins.

Louis pulls a bottle of red wine from the shelf and pours himself a glass as Dermot brings the show back from break. “So, as all dedicated Cyber fans know, very few things in The Cyber Sphere universe are predictable and tonight’s show is shaping up to be no different. We’re joined on the line by the one, the only… Louis Tomlinson, who has decided to do a Q and A with us this evening. Hi Louis.”

“Hi, Dermot. Good to be with you,” he says and takes a sip from his glass, the mellow flavours swirling in his mouth.

“Louis, the stage is yours, what would you like to talk about?”

“I’m open to your suggestions. Footie?”

Dermot laughs wholeheartedly. “I’d be more than happy to chat with you for hours about footie but I’m fairly sure your fans, and my producer, would eat me alive if I let you off that easily.”

“How is poor old Graham doing this evening?”

“Apoplectic would probably be an apt description right about now.”

Louis chuckles and sits back down at his console. “Sorry about that. Breathe Graham.”

“How about we open this up for the fans on Twitter? Becca can retweet some good questions and we’ll go from there.”

“Solid plan.”

“Excellent. While we wait for that, tell the listeners what you’re up to this evening, paint us a picture?”

Louis looks around his vast living area and sighs. There are times when it really does seem very big and empty. “Not much. Listening to my favourite radio program, enjoying a glass of red, lounging in some sweats. You know, the usual.”

“So you really do just hang out and chill like the rest of us mere mortals?” Dermot muses, and there’s an undertone of contemplation in his voice.

“I’m just a regular guy, Dermot. With a somewhat irregular life, for sure, but we’re all just people.” Louis watches as Becca retweets some questions onto the Cyber Times account. A lot of them are pretty predictable. What’s coming up in his next novel, when will it be out, what’s happening with particular characters, hints about the storyline, all as expected. One does spark his interest though.

“Alright, Louis, enough chit chat, let's get this show on the road, yeah? Becca seems to have regained her composure somewhat and I can see a few questions coming through, any take your fancy?”

“Yeah, uhm… Claire asked if I have a pet? I don’t actually. But I was thinking just this morning that I should get a cat. I’ve got this big, sort of, domed atrium above the pool,” Louis says as he waves his hand in the general direction of the tall glass wall and beyond to the pool area. “The sun streams in and warms the space and I thought a cat might like that. Sitting there, all snug and curled up on one of the lounge chairs. Yeah. Maybe a cat. I should do something about that,” Louis says wistfully, imaging the scene vividly.

“That sounds really nice, Louis. There you have it, Claire, Louis doesn’t currently have a pet, but perhaps a little feline friend is on the cards. Any others?”

Louis scrolls through and stops on another tweet.

“Anna wants to know where I like to holiday. Well, I haven’t been away for a while actually. Bit of a homebody, me. Plus it’s hard for me to do that kind of thing. It would create a lot of logistical issues for my poor manager.” Louis remembers the last trip he took, three years ago now, it was chaos and not at all enjoyable. “The last time I went away I basically had to be airlifted from a ski resort because fans found out where I was. It was pretty scary and dangerous for the fans as well. One tried to climb the balcony of the chalet and had to be rescued with a cherry-picker when they got stuck. Yeah, not keen on a repeat of that.”

“Jesus. That sounds terrifying. So this whole fame caper isn’t all it’s cracked up to be then? It’s not all private jets and five-star hotels?”

“Nah, definitely not,” Louis chuckles, a little self-deprecatingly. “It’s not what it seems from the outside looking in, I guess, but it’s okay, more than, I’m very lucky to be able to do what I do. I get to help a lot of people and bring happiness to their lives, so it balances out,” Louis says with a shrug and he takes another sip of his wine.

“It’s good that you see the positives. I can’t begin to imagine what it’s like for you. I got a minuscule taste of it this week and it was… overwhelming. Alright, any others catch your eye?”

“Xavier wants to know what tech stuff I’ve got in the works. Well, I’m actually finalizing the next release of my artificial intelligence program at the moment so I’m pretty excited about that.”

“Oh yeah? Wow. Can you tell us anything more about it?”

Louis sits up in his chair, this is something he will gladly talk about ad nauseum. “Yeah! It’s called Sid. He’s my mate and helps keep me sane in my little glass box on top of the world. Oh. Do you wanna hear him?”

“Really? Yes!”

“Alright. Sid. Dermot O’Leary. Food and drink preferences.”

“Yes, Louis. One moment.”

“Oh wow. He’s really got a proper voice,” Dermot says sounding genuinely surprised.

“Yeah, course. Don’t wanna chat to something that sounds like a computer all day.”

“Good point. Is he really gonna be able to work out my pref-“

“Dermot O’Leary,” Sid interrupts. “Based on the available data, Dermot enjoys red wine, fresh juices, and tea. He frequents establishments that use organic produce and Asian and European infusion flavours. Favorite drink is iced tea and favorite dish is lasagne.”

“Woah. How on earth?”

Louis smiles proudly. “Sid’s a bit of alright. Still working on his funny bone, but we’re getting there.”

“Well colour me impressed.”

“Ally wants to know if I’ve got a partner.” Louis pauses, it’s a topic of almost constant discussion within, and outside of the fanbase. He always avoids it, not wanting to live up to the sad, lonely, hermit cliche, but tonight he feels like letting people in a bit. Maybe it’s reckless, but it’s not as though he’s actually revealing anything or anyone.

“You don’t have to answer that, Louis.” Dermot jumps in, bless him. “Your life is your life so please don’t feel obligated.”

It’s kind and considerate and Louis appreciates his protectiveness. “It’s okay, but thank you. And nope, no partner. Just me, and Sid, and my best mate and manager, Liam. Bit difficult to bring anyone into this weird life I have.” Louis chuckles. “I really should see about getting that cat.”

There’s silence for a moment and Louis wonders what’s going through Dermot’s head. “That’s… that’s great that you have Liam. He must be a good friend.”

“The best. Been mates since uni. He’s a good egg. Anyway… this got serious all of a sudden. Let’s lighten it up a bit. Actually, Graham in the studio wants to know who you think is gonna win the match tomorrow.”

“I’m going to assume Graham means tomorrow’s England v Ireland match. Graham, Graham, Graham, tsk tsk. Of course it'll be England! I’m sure you agree Mr. Sean Dermot Fintan O'Leary Junior.”

“Oh, Louis,” Dermot sighs. “I know you can’t see it, but I’m shaking my head right now. I think we might have to end this call immediately. But just so we’re crystal clear, my Irish lads are going to annihilate your woefully inept English boys. Ireland all the way.”

“Haha,” Louis says flatly. “Not gonna happen, mate.”

“Yeah? How about we make this interesting then… fancy a friendly wager?”

Louis shifts in his seat, curious and a little excited, this is right up his alley. “Oohhh… I like your thinking. Alright, what’re the stakes?”

“If Ireland wins, you have to come back on the show next week and sing the Irish national anthem.”

Louis giggles, actually giggles. Good grief. He quickly segways into a cough in a valiant attempt to try and cover it but is pretty sure he fails dismally. “Done. And when England wins…” Louis trails off and Dermot lets out a deep, throaty laugh. Louis feels a self-satisfied smile spread across his face. “Yes, when they win, you have to wear an English jersey, scarf, and beanie, and upload a video of yourself singing the English national anthem to your Twitter.”

“Touché. Alright, you’re on. Now, before we let you get back to your evening, maybe one last question?”

“Sure. Hmmmm…” Louis scrolls through the tweets Becca has been retweeting, a few people screaming into the Twitter void about England and Ireland, some curiously wondering about his and Dermot’s relationship.

“Mabel wants to know who Sid’s voice is based on. Great question. Uhm… he’s actually modeled off my grandfather. He was a lovely man and sadly passed when I was still a teenager but he lived a full life. He always had a wisdom and compassion that I admired. He was funny too,” Louis says and he can hear the smile in his own voice. “Witty and dry, never at anyone else’s expense though, and he always put others before himself,” Louis remembers one day in particular with great fondness. “He was the first person I came out to. I miss him a lot and always wished I could’ve had more time with him.” He’s out publicly, so this is no great revelation, but the words still roll slightly uneasily off his tongue.

“He sounds amazing, Louis. It must be nice to be able to recreate a bit of him in your daily life like that.”

“It is. I’m still working on a lot of the nuances but this next release has a lot more of him in it.”

“Actually, my grandmother was the first person I came out to as well. What do you think that says?”

“Really? Wow. That’s awesome, man. Yeah. I think… I think that sometimes, we can feel an extra level of safety and security when it comes to the relationships we have with our grandparents, you know? It’s certainly not the same for everyone, and I obviously can’t speak to other people’s experiences, but for me, I felt this sense of unconditional love with mine. Not that I didn’t have that with other family members, but it was as though my grandfather was just there for me, and listened without necessarily worrying about what the ramifications of the admission might mean for my future. It was more matter of fact. Like, instead of focusing on the potential for anything bad, he was more interested in me sharing my journey to that point and how I felt about it. It allowed me to ease into it and helped me to reconcile my own thoughts without having to answer questions about what it was going to mean for me going forward when I barely even knew what I thought about it in my own head. It can be a hard road, and there were lots of twists and turns along the way but I’ve never regretted my decision to come out and my grandfather's words and advice always stuck with me throughout it all, they still do.”

“That’s… yeah. That’s exactly how I felt too,” Dermot says and Louis can hear how affected he is by the conversation. “I’m sure a lot of people out there will be comforted by your words. We don’t always have everything figured out and it can be a long path to get there, and some never fully do, but it has to start somewhere. I’m really glad we both had the support when we needed it the most and now you’re getting an opportunity to bring that back in some way with Sid. It’s really cool.”

“Yeah, it really is. I’m very lucky.” Louis lets out a long breath and stares at the Twitter feed. Becca must’ve stopped retweeting because the last tweet was a few minutes ago. A new message pops up as he’s watching, then another, and another, and another.

“I see we’ve got a theme developing on our twitter feed and before we go, I’d just like to add my own thanks. I really appreciate you taking the time to talk so openly with us this evening, it definitely wasn’t what I was expecting when Becca connected your call, but it’s been great, can’t thank you enough, really.”

Louis switches over to the hashtag which is rapidly building in momentum and feels himself start to tear up as he watches the feed. “Yeah, of course. It’s been really nice. Thanks to everyone for listening to my ramblings,” Louis says, his words heavy with the emotion that is threatening to spill out against his will.

Dermot clears his throat. “Right. God. Uhm… you’ve certainly got a way with words.”

“Well I’d hope so,” Louis says cheekily.

“Ooookay, I’m gonna end this before I embarrass myself even further,” Dermot says and Louis chuckles. “Thank you, again, for doing this. It’s been a blast, very illuminating. And I look forward to cashing in on our bet and welcoming you back on the show next week.”

“Oi! Not so fast there, sunshine. We’ll see. Maybe I’ll come back just to crow about my win anyway.”

“We’re happy to have you anytime. So, got a final song request for us?”

“Hmmmm… how about something out of left field?”

“Hit me.”

“Imagine, John Lennon.”

Dermot inhales sharply and Louis smiles at the reaction. “Good call. Like, really good call. Alright, this is Imagine by John Lennon, for all the dreamers out there,” Dermot says as the first chords of the song fill Louis’ head. “You’re off the air now, Louis. Thanks again, you’re- I mean, that was amazing.”

“Cheers, Dermot, I had fun. You’re easy to talk to,” Louis says and he finds that he really means it. This is the most he’s interacted with someone in a long while and even though it was aired for god knows how many strangers to listen to, it felt private too.

Dermot chuckles. “I’ll let you go but don’t forget our wager. You watching the match at home?”

“Yup! Just me and Sid. I should really look into getting that cat. How about yourself?”

“Oh, yeah, just gonna watch it at home. I actually do have a cat. So it’ll just be me and Floyd and some red wine. Or maybe not red wine. Don’t want to spill it as I’m throwing my arms in the air when my Irish brethren wipe the floor with your English lads.”

“Right, right, I see how this is going to be. Well, best of luck, although you clearly think your Irish don’t need it. Thanks again...” Louis trails off and he doesn’t want this to end, doesn’t want to go back to his quiet house with no cat and no one to talk to. He hasn’t felt like this in a long time, the desire to have someone with him, to talk to, to share things with.

“You too. God, this is ridiculous. Alright. Thank you, Louis. Enjoy the game tomorrow night and we’ll hopefully be speaking again soon.” There’s a little hint of hope at the end of his sentence and it doesn’t go unnoticed.

“Bye, Dermot.”

“Bye, Louis.”

 

~~~~~

Louis turns over in bed and flips his pillow to the cold side, burying his head into the soft cotton. He can’t sleep. Why can’t he sleep? He runs another part of his conversation with Dermot in his head, analyzing the lilt in his voice, the deep timbre of his voice, his laugh. He’s got the entire audio recorded but it’s not like he needs it, it’s practically burned on his brain.

He cranes his neck to look at the time. Ten-thirty-eight. Good lord. He’s an old man before his time. Who the fuck goes to bed at this time on a Friday night? He does, apparently.

This whole sleep caper clearly isn’t working. He throws off the covers with a huff and swings his legs out, sitting up, and slapping his feet on the wooden floor. Tea. Tea will fix everything. He just needs to clear his head.

He stomps down the long hallway and into the kitchen, flicking on the lights and dimming them to something less headache inducing.

His brain whirs and wanders off on its own tangent as Dermot’s voice rattles around in his head. It was just such a nice conversation. Nice? Ugh. He hates that word, so vanilla, so nondescript. It wasn’t just nice, it was… fucking hell, he can’t even find the words and this is the cornerstone of his entire profession, his life.

His life.

He looks around the space, devoid of any life at all, and a feeling of overwhelming loneliness swamps him like a tidal wave.

“Sid. Replay tonight’s show.”

“Yes, Louis. Tonight’s The Cyber Times replaying.”

Louis makes himself a tea and takes it over to the couch. He listens intently, laughing at their easy banter, and tearing up again at his and Dermot’s words. It sounds different hearing it back, sitting in the softly lit room, Dermot’s voice no longer in his ear but surrounding and filling the space. He notices a hint of flirting in his own tone and it surprises him, he’s even more surprised to hear that Dermot returns it just as easily. At least he thinks that’s what it is, it’s been a long while since he’s interacted with someone like that. Maybe Dermot was just being polite, or perhaps he was just a little star struck? No, he shakes his head, he doesn’t think that’s it, he’s familiar enough with that phenomenon.

It’s almost at the end and Louis finds that he doesn’t want it to be over. He wants to talk to him again, not over the phone, in person. Dermot is saying that he’ll be watching the game at home with Floyd and…

“Sid. Text Dermot O’Leary. Secured. Delete messages once read after five seconds.”

“Yes, Louis.”

Louis strides over to his console and sits down in the chair, tapping his fingers on the worksurface impatiently. A dialogue box comes up and he types out a message.

Louis reads it over again, not too friendly or presumptuous. He doesn’t want to seem overly keen. Breezy. That’s what he’s going for and he thinks he’s nailed it or at least doesn’t sound too pathetic. He takes a deep breath, hits send and slowly rests back into the chair, his hand finding its way to his mouth and he starts chewing on his fingernails.

He watches the dialogue box nervously. The delivered status comes up, and then almost immediately, it changes to read. There are no bubbles indicating Dermot is typing, but he’s probably just deciding whether it’s legitimately Louis. Well, he hopes that’s what it is. The message changes from blue to grey signaling that it’s been deleted from Dermot’s phone, and the universe, Louis is nothing if not thorough.

Finally, the three little bubbles appear, only to promptly disappear, and then reappear again. Louis’ stomach is churning. Maybe a shot or two of whiskey would’ve been a better choice than a cup of tea, not that he knew he’d be doing something this crazy when he stumbled out of bed.

Louis lets out a long sigh, relief washing over him and he’s about to type out a response when he sees the little bubbles pop up again, so he waits.

Louis laughs as he starts typing.

He hits send and watches the screen intently as Dermot responds.

Louis makes a mental note to call Liam in the morning which should make for an interesting conversation. Having never had anyone over to his home before, Liam is going to be… well, he’s not actually sure what he’s going to be. Shocked? Happy?

~~~~

Liam is smiling like a loon into the camera and Louis is going to dedicate some serious time to thinking of ways to make him pay. “I’m sorry. Can you repeat that? Pretty sure I heard you wrong.” So apparently Liam is both shocked and happy with a touch of smug thrown in for good measure.

Louis rolls his eyes and glares at the screen. “I said. Can you pick up Dermot, at six, tonight, and bring him here. Please.” Annunciating each word pointedly.

“Just to be clear. You’re asking me to bring another human being to your house? And this human being is none other than Dermot O’Leary, Irish supporter, all ‘round nice guy, fit as fuck, and the other half of the LouLeary ship currently trending on Twitter and, you know, everywhere?”

He could push him off the roof of the penthouse or maybe he’ll just feed him to the sharks. Louis grits his teeth and tries not to scream. “Yes, please. That one. And don’t be a knob about it. He’s a good person, I like-“ Oh well, in for a penny Louis thinks. “I like him, okay? I enjoyed our conversation and from everything I’ve read, and seen, which to be fair, has been quite a lot, he seems like someone who would be nice to spend some time with.” There, he’s said it. Liam can make fun of him all he wants, he truly doesn’t give a shit.

Instead, Liam’s expression morphs into something like fondness and Louis scrunches his nose up. “Awwww Lou, you really like him?”

Louis shrugs as he tries, and fails, to act nonchalant. “Maybe? But we’ll never truly know unless you pick him up now will we?”

“You want me to grab him in the batmobile?”

“Liam. Mate. How many times do we have to go over this? You’re not Batman and it’s not a batmobile,” Louis says exasperatedly.

“It is when I’m driving it.” The smirk on Liam’s face should be irritating but he can’t help but be endeared.

“Alright. Could you please pick up Dermot in the... batmobile?”

“Certainly, Lou, all you had to do was ask.”

Louis is definitely going to throw him off the roof. “You’re incorrigible.”

“Fine, fine,” Liam leans away from the screen and Louis can see him stirring a pot on the stove. “Usual NDA and clearances?”

“Yeah, thanks mate. Uhm… Liam?”

“Mhmmm…?”

Louis has been going over this in his head all morning, and for the better part of the night before, but it’s still a struggle to get the words out. He doesn’t want to sound foolish, but he also knows that Liam won’t judge him, even if he jokes around, he’s got Louis’ back.

“Is he gonna think I’m weird? You know, all mad-scientist, hiding in my glass tower above the world with all my tech?”

Liam turns and comes back fully into the frame, leaning his elbows on the counter and fixing Louis with a firm expression. “Lou, you’re not a mad scientist.”

“I am though, a bit. I dunno, have I been living this life for too long?”

Liam’s face softens and there’s a hint of sadness in his eyes. “No, Lou. Look. It’s not an easy lot, but you do a wonderful job and your work is loved by millions.”

“Yeah but fame is a double-edged sword. Everyone knows of you, but no one knows the real you. What if he meets me properly and thinks I’m a pretentious wanker?”

“You,” Liam points accusingly at the screen, “are the least pretentious person I know. Sure, your life is a bit abnormal,” Louis furrows his brows. “Alright, your life is very abnormal, but you, you’re the most normal guy I know, not a wankerish bone in your body. If this Dermot bloke can’t see that, then he’s not worth your time.”

Louis lets out a sigh of relief and his shoulders relax. “Thanks, Liam. Not just for that, but for everything. You’re a good friend.”

“Fuck off, I’m the bestest friend in the world. Gold class all the way.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay. Thanks though, I appreciate it.”

Liam smiles and stands up, slapping his hands on the counter. “Right! Well, you’ve only got eight hours until show time and you look like crap, so go and weave some magic. Not likely to snag yourself a man looking like you’ve slept in your clothes for three days straight.”

Louis chuckles and shakes his head. “You were almost nice for a moment there, lulled me into a false sense of security. As your punishment, I’m gonna be calling you for fashion advice later, so don’t go too far.”

“I’m at your service, Sir,” Liam says with a wink and ends the call.

~~~~

Louis stares at himself in the reflection of the windows, the city lights twinkling and swirling beneath him. He’s changed his outfit somewhere in the vicinity of ten times, although, to be fair, he simply stopped counting when he felt it was becoming excessive, so it could be much higher than that. Liam had been surprisingly patient, bless him, clearly understanding that this wasn’t the time to get a rise out of him. He’d settled on sweats, nice sweats of course, but he just didn’t feel comfortable in anything else. He’s nervous enough without adding self-consciousness to the mixture of emotions churning through his brain. Grey sweats, white socks, a black T-shirt and his English jersey. It’s simple, but perfect for an evening of watching his team pound the Irish lads into the ground. He decided against shaving, preferring to keep his scruff, and his fringe is sweeping down artfully across his forehead. He fiddles with it absentmindedly as he checks the time. It’s just gone six, and Louis paces around a bit. Liam had messaged him when he’d picked up Dermot and the accompanying string of kissy-face emojis had done nothing to calm Louis’ nerves.

Over the course of the day, he’s worried about a lot of things; what to wear, what to say, what it’ll be like having someone here, in his space, for the first time in forever. Has Dermot been putting on a facade during their other interactions and he’s actually a crazed super-fan? Will he think Louis is a boring sack of shit? Is Louis going to be able to hold a conversation like a regular person? The one that’s been eating away at him, though, is whether he’s read the entire situation wrong. Was the spark he felt between them simply Dermot doing his job and making Louis feel at ease like he would with any other guest? Had the hint of flirtation just been a technique to get Louis onside for the sake of a good show? Louis shakes his head and pushes the thought out of his head. No. It was there. It was real.

“Sid. Game on, please.”

“Certainly, Louis. Game on.”

Game on indeed.

The large projector screen rolls down from the ceiling cavity above the gas fireplace as the sound of the announcer's voices fill the room, the pre-game show already in full swing.

He potters around in the kitchen, pouring himself a large glass of red wine and checking on the Guinness stew in the casserole dish in the oven. They hadn’t discussed dinner but Louis figured it was best to have something prepared. He loves to cook. Loves the process as much as the result, and this dish is an old favorite. Plus, he thought Dermot might appreciate the Irish touch.

He’d specifically told Liam not to come up and to just let Dermot in through his secure entrance, not wanting the awkward three’s-a-crowd moment but now he thinks that a buffer might’ve been a smarter move.

“Guest arriving,” Sid announces and Louis snaps his head around to his screen bank as a shot of adrenaline surges through his bloodstream. The video feed shows Liam and Dermot in the lobby and Louis watches as the doors open and Liam pats a concerned looking Dermot on the back before ushering him into the waiting lift. He suspects that the car ride, the NDA, and the scanner in the private lobby have probably done an effective job of freaking him out, but they’re necessary precautions he has to take and he’s sure that Dermot would’ve understood.

Louis tries to regulate his breathing which has gone haywire in the last minute and wipes his sweaty palms on his jersey. He suddenly feels incredibly out of place in his own home. Does he stand? Does he sit on the couch? On a stool at the kitchen bench? Maybe he should greet him at the lift?

“Fuck.”

He stands frozen on the spot, eyes transfixed on the screen watching Dermot as he rises higher and higher, closer and closer to Louis’ apartment.

Louis considers making a run for it and locking himself in his bedroom, but then Dermot looks straight into the camera, smiles, and winks. With a rush, all the nervous energy in Louis’ body dissipates and he finds himself smiling, turning on his heel, and walking over to the lift doors just in time for them to open.

“Yeah, definitely a cat,” Dermot says by way of a greeting as he steps into Louis’ home.

“Well, hello to you too. And… what?”

“It’d be a nightmare having to take a dog up and down that lift, the poor thing would pee itself before you got it downstairs. So, yeah, you should definitely get a cat.”

Louis bursts out laughing and walks forward, stopping just short, not sure whether to go in for a hug or a handshake. Thankfully Dermot removes the decision and closes the distance, pulling Louis into a warm hug. He smells good, shower-fresh and citrusy with a hint of pine. The lingering embrace tells Louis everything he needs to know and removes any doubt about what tonight is. Dermot gives him a squeeze and pulls back, looking down and meeting Louis’ gaze with his sparkling eyes. He’s only an inch or so taller than Louis, but his build makes him seem bigger, Louis likes it quite a lot.

“Hey,” Dermot says softly and trails his hands down Louis’ biceps, coming to rest at his elbows.

“Hey, yourself,” Louis says shyly and casts his eye down to Dermot’s broad chest clothed in the most horrible apparel he has ever seen. Louis brings both hands up and places them on Dermot’s pecs, pushing him backward. “I’ll have you know, that this,” he pokes at Dermot’s Ireland jersey, “is the most hideous thing I have ever let in my home.”

Dermot smiles broadly and his whole face lights up. “We’re gonna wallop you, you know.”

Any residual nerves evaporate and he suddenly can’t remember why he was so worried. He tilts his head to the side and juts his chin out in challenge. “Them’s fighting words. I like it. Come on in and I’ll give you a tour.”

Louis steps back and watches as Dermot looks past him, eyes widening as tries to take it all in.

“Holy shit. This is… wow.”

Louis starts to move away from him and then stops and turns, realizing that Dermot is still glued to the spot. He reaches out and grabs him by the front of his jersey and tugs. “Not gonna see much from there.”

Dermot chuckles and stumbles forward. “Sorry, it’s just… a lot.”

They make their way through the living area and kitchen, to his screen bank, with a cursory glance down the hallway which houses the bedrooms, before heading out to the gym and indoor pool.

Dermot oohs and ahhs and asks him a few questions about the spaces as they go but it’s the pool that has him rendered almost speechless.

“This is my favourite place in the house,” Louis says as they stand in front of the blue water, floodlit from underneath, the surface and casting prisms of light up onto the glass. “When the suns out it warms up in here like a greenhouse and it’s so peaceful.”

“I can see why you think a cat would be a perfect fit for you. I know Floyd would go mad for this.”

“Was Floyd very cross at you abandoning him this evening?”

“Nah. He barely notices whether I’m there or not. I’m just the servant that brings him food. “He was curled up on my bed when I left and will most likely be in the exact same spot when I get home.”

Louis chuckles and leads them back into the living room. “Drink?”

“Mhmmm… yeah, that’d be great.”

“Wine, beer,” Louis pauses for effect. “Perhaps your favourite, some iced tea?” Louis wonders if Dermot will remember and make the connection to their previous call and Sid’s analysis of his food and beverage preferences.

“Ooohhh… where’s Sid?”

“Hello, Dermot, welcome to our home,” Sid says on cue.

“Woah, that’s so cool. Uhm… hello, Sid, nice to meet you,” Dermot says scanning the room as if Sid is going to somehow materialize before them.

Louis laughs and grabs a bottle of red down from the rack. “You know he’s just a voice, yeah?”

“I am much more than just a voice, Louis,” Sid chides and Dermot snickers.

Louis rolls his eyes and takes an extra glass from the cupboard. “Yes, Sid, thanks for that.” Louis brings his hand up and stage-whispers toward Dermot. “Guess I should ratchet down the sass in this next release.”

“Don’t you dare,” Dermot gasps.

“Thank you for your support, Dermot. I like him, Louis.”

Dermot guffaws and Louis shakes his head. This is going really well, better than he’d hoped. It’s easy and relaxed and Louis lets his eyes drop down to Dermot’s thick thighs that are filling out his black jeans nicely. Very nicely.

“Wine would be lovely,” Dermot says with a smirk in his voice. “In answer to your previous question.” Louis eyes snap back up, blushing when he realizes he’s been caught out.

“Right. Yes. Wine.” Louis refocuses and tops up his glass, filling one for Dermot as well and sliding it across the benchtop.

Dermot picks it up and holds it out in front of him. “To a fair game.”

“To fair game,” Louis says, clinking their glasses together. He brings the glass to his lips, winks, and takes a long sip, watching Dermot over the end of his wine glass as his expression changes to something more devilish. Excellent.

“Sorry, I have to ask, what is that glorious smell?”

“Me, of course,” Louis deadpans and he earns a hearty chuckle from Dermot.

“Well, of course, that goes without saying,” Dermot says as he rounds the bench coming up alongside Louis. “But I actually meant the food.”

“Oh, uhm… I made a Guinness stew, actually,” Louis says as he sets down his glass and goes over to the wall oven. “It’s nothing much, just and tried a true recipe. We didn’t- I mean we didn’t discuss dinner plans or anything,” he says as he opens the oven and the hearty aroma wafts out.

“Fuck, that smells amazing,” Dermot groans as he comes up behind Louis and lays his hand on his lower back, sending sparks of electricity up his spine. “You cook?” He’s so close that Louis can feel his breath on his neck and he knees suddenly feel weak. Dermot is kind and smart and fit and funny and all sorts of lovely and Louis is going to end up in a puddle on the floor any minute now.

He’s not sure if his cheeks are heating up from the hot air coming out of the oven or as a result of Dermot’s proximity, maybe it’s a combination of both. “Uhm… yeah, I love to cook actually. Are- are you hungry?” And why is Louis’ voice an octave higher than normal.

“Mhmmm… starving,” Dermot practically purrs and Louis realizes that he’s using his radio announcer voice and fuck if it isn’t the sexiest goddamn thing he’s ever heard. He desperately needs to put some distance between them or this evening is going to veer off on a sharp tangent far too soon.

Louis closes the oven door and moves away from temptation to the cupboard and pulls out some bowls. “Would you like some before the game?”

“Sounds brilliant. Can I do anything to help?”

“Nah, all good,” Louis says as he sets the bowls on the counter. “I’ll just slop some into these and we can scoop the chunks out with our fingers.”

Dermot laughs and shakes his head. “We’ll do no such thing. Right. You dish up and I’ll set the table. Got some candles?”

Well okay, then. Louis can definitely get on board with this development. “You should find everything you need in the pantry,” he says, pointing to the large doors at the end of the wall of cupboards.

Dermot nods and strides over, opening the doors and letting out a long whistle as he steps inside the walk-in pantry. “Bloody hell, mate, I think this is the same size as my first flat.”

“Mine too,” Louis chuckles to himself. “And I had to share it with Liam.”

Dermot comes back out with candles in hand, along with two placemats, an oblong bread basket, a box of breadsticks and the pepper grinder. Nice.

“Liam’s a nice lad. Proper chatty.”

Louis sets the casserole dish on the counter and raises his eyebrow in question as he takes off the oven mitts. “Yeah?”

“Felt like I was running the best mate gauntlet, to be honest. I mean, I get it, of course, seemed like a well-practiced routine. He’s right to be protective. It was good to see actually. He’s obviously a good friend.”

“The best, yeah,” Louis smiles and starts spooning the stew into the bowls. “But uhm… it’s not a well-practiced routine. I don’t have people over very often.”

“Oh right, well that’s good… good to know, I mean, like, that’s good, yeah. Shit. Sorry. I’ll just hide over here for a bit,” Dermot says, embarrassment painted all over his face as he turns and heads to the dining table. It’s adorable and makes Louis feel less like a pitiful desperado.

Louis busies himself with serving up their stew and when he looks up again Dermot is leaning over the table lighting the candles, the material of his jeans stretching nicely over his toned arse. Louis’ lips part and he licks them involuntarily, appreciating the view.

“This is becoming a habit,” Dermot says with a wry smile and Louis drops the ladle onto the bench with a clang, caught out again.

“Fuck, sorry.” Louis hangs his head. Good lord, what’s wrong with him?

“It’s alright, mate. I’ve been doing that since I got here but I’m clearly more capable and practiced in the stealth department,” Dermot says with a wink. “Come on, I’m starved. Let’s eat, yeah?”

Louis takes a deep breath, nods, and finishes serving up their stew as Dermot grabs their wine glasses and the bottle, taking them over to the table. He waits with Louis’ chair pulled out and Louis sets their plates down.

“How very gentlemanly of you,” Louis says as his sits and Dermot pushes his chair in, letting his hands come to rest on Louis’ shoulder briefly and giving them a gentle squeeze. “Sid, could you dim the lights, please.”

“Yes, Louis.”

The lights dim allowing the candlelight to take over, flickering softly across the table.

“Well, isn’t this proper romantic,” Dermot murmurs and Louis worries he’s gone too far.

“Sorry, I can-“

“Hey. No.” Dermot reaches over and lays his hand on top of Louis’, rubbing his thumb across his knuckles. “I meant it in a good way,” he says. “Besides, I reckon every pre-game meal should be over candlelight and red wine. We’ll start a new trend.”

“I’m just… I’m a bit out of my depth,” Louis says shyly and lets his eyes wander down to see that Dermot still hasn’t removed his hand. It feels nice. Warm and reassuring and soothing to Louis’ nerves.

“You’re doing fine, really. Now, what shall we toast to?” Dermot queries picking up his wine glass with his free hand.

“I could probably come up with some witty reference to the impending defeat of your Irish lads, but I don’t like to draw attention to people’s poor sporting team choices, so we could stick with something a bit safer?”

Dermot chuckles and swirls the wine in his glass, pretending to be serious for a moment and contemplate the options. “How about we just toast to our evening? To us?”

“To us,” Louis says and picks up his glass and tilts it toward Dermot.

~~~~

“You’ve got to be kidding me! No, no, no!” Louis shakes his head and pounds the couch. “This is so fucking rigged,” he gruffs.

“Awwwww… don’t be a sore loser,” Dermot teases and pokes him in the ribs.

Louis swats at his hand and tries to squirm away. “Correction, we didn’t lose, it was a draw. A bloody draw.”

The game might’ve been a disappointment, but the company certainly wasn’t. Louis had discovered shortly after they’d sat down that Dermot was very tactile, and it was a pleasant and welcome surprise. Sitting side by side on the couch, knees bumping, arms brushing, in each other’s personal space as if no boundaries existed. Louis has missed this kind of closeness with another person and he’s revelling in it.

“Yeah, but you should’ve won. So many missed opportunities,” Dermot says cheekily as he turns in his seat and bends his knee up to rest on the couch, arm draped over the back.

Louis feels the hairs on the back of his neck stand up as Dermot’s eyes bore into the side of his face, a wave of nervousness sweeping over him. All he has to do is sit back and he’ll be practically in his arms, but he’s unsure. He knows where he wants this to go, and everything that has led to this moment indicates that Dermot is on the same page. He chances a glance and Dermot is looking at him with piercing blue eyes and a hungry smile, head angled to the side.

Instead of moving, Louis deflects, giving himself a little more time. “So, what does this mean for our wager then?”

Dermot rolls his head back and laughs, the column of his muscled neck elongating and revealing a hint of his collarbones. Louis wants to burrow into his chest, inhale his smell, and feel the warmth of his strong arms enveloping him. Dermot brings his gaze back to Louis and he feels all the air being forced out of his lungs.

“Well, we could call it even, a draw’s a draw, after all, but I don’t think either of us would be satisfied with that. I see a national anthem, and national embarrassment in my near future, and I think you’re gonna be busy next Friday night back on the show.”

“Yeah, I reckon you’re right,” Louis rasps and watches him intently as he edges a bit further back on the couch. “Sid. Game off and retract the projector, please. Fire up too, thanks.”

“Yes, Louis. Would you like some music?” Sid asks as the projector disappears into the ceiling.

Louis leans back again until he’s resting on the cushion and Dermot’s hand is mere inches from his shoulder. “Any requests?”

“Plenty,” Dermot says, his tone is low and serious and Louis doesn’t miss the double meaning. “There’s gotta be some sort of love song dedications show we can tune into.”

“Sid. Find a love song station, please.” Louis giggles, throwing his head back and tilting it to the side to look at him through hooded eyelids. It’s a move, he knows that, but he’s hopeful it’ll get the response he’s after.

Louis isn’t disappointed. As the sounds of Mariah Carey’s Always Be My Baby filter through the room, they both laugh and Dermot starts to card his fingers through the hairs at the nape of Louis’ neck. His eyes flutter, sparks of electricity shooting down his spine, as he shifts in his seat and turns his body to face Dermot.

“You’re really quite something, Louis Tomlinson.”

“I’m a mystery, I’m barely even real, or haven’t you heard?”

“You feel pretty real to me,” Dermot murmurs gripping onto Louis’ neck more firmly and pulling him closer.

Louis goes easily, he wants this, more than anything he’s wanted in a long time. He watches as Dermot’s mouth parts and his tongue slips out, tracing along his red wine stained lips. “Do I?

“Mhmmm… can I… fuck, can I kiss you?”

Louis nods and closes the gap until only the smallest space separates them, close enough that he can feel Dermot’s warm breath on his face. Louis’ eyes dart back and forth between Dermot’s, the clear blue sparkling in the firelight like the most beautiful crystals nature could barely hope to recreate.

Louis inhales sharply and Dermot’s lips are on his, soft and tentative, and Louis appreciates his restraint but it’s not what he wants. He wants to feel consumed, taken, ripped apart at the seams, gasping for air.

He leans in and Dermot wraps an arm around his waist, the gentle pressure from the palm on his lower back showing him what he wants, and Louis concurs. He goes easily, tucking his leg underneath him and gripping onto Dermot’s shoulders for leverage, kneeling up and swinging his leg over Dermot’s lap. He breaks away from the kiss and looks down, Dermot’s head resting back against the top of the couch to gaze up at him.

Louis shuffles forward and rests his whole weight into Dermot’s lap, hands clasping behind his head. Dermot’s hands trail up from Louis’ thighs to between his shoulder blades and he pulls him in for another kiss. Louis is in control of this one though and he deepens it immediately, their tongues sliding against each other, licking and exploring, a nip of teeth, hot breaths, hands roaming. Louis hasn’t felt like this in a long time, it’s fucking addictive and he wants more, all of it, anything Dermot will give him.

Dermot brings hands to Louis’ hips, holding him firmly in place as he moves his pelvis up to grind their cocks together. The friction sends sparks of electricity around his body and he grunts into Dermot’s mouth, pulling away and arching his back, exposing his throat. Dermot sucks eagerly at the skin as Louis focuses on swiveling his hips to give them both what they want.

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s it,” Dermot encourages and gets to work on marking up Louis’ neck. He reaches down and lifts Louis’ jersey over his head in a swift motion, throwing it to the side. He growls when he sees his T-shirt, like the extra layer is an affront to humanity and practically rips it off, chucking it to the floor before burying his face in Louis’ chest, breathing him in and trailing a line of kisses along his pecs.

Louis wants to feel Dermots skin against his, he’s desperate for it. He leans back and tugs at his jersey, Dermot smirks and sits forward and Louis reefs both layer off in one go, nearly taking Dermot’s nose off in the process. “Eager much?” Dermot says with a chuckle and Louis drops the offending clothing on the floor in a pile.

“Maybe,” Louis says and they stare at each other, drinking in their half-naked bodies in appreciation and Louis thinks he might combust if he doesn’t move soon. He wants to feel Dermot’s weight on him, pinning him down, but that will come at some point, maybe not tonight, but it will come. For now, Louis wants to feel a weight of a different kind, the weight of Dermot’s cock on his tongue.

Louis dismounts and stands up, Dermot looking at him with a quirked brow. He tucks his fingers into the waistband of his sweats and drags them down his thighs, kicking them off with his socks, leaving only his boxer briefs. Dermot watches the striptease, eyes raking over Louis’ body as he palms himself through his jeans.

“They’ve gotta be getting uncomfortable,” Louis purrs and nods toward Dermot’s tight, black jeans. “We should do something about that.”

The corner of Dermot’s mouth rises up into a devilish grin and he slides down until his arse is at the edge of the couch, placing his hands on either side of him. “Be my guest.”

Louis licks his lips and drops to his knees. The groan Dermot lets out is pained, wanton, and just what Louis had hoped for. He lays his hands on Dermot’s thighs and glides them all the way up to his stomach, leaning forward and nosing at his crotch. He mouths over his hard cock that’s straining to be freed from its confines, then up to the coarse hair of his happy trail peaking out above the jeans that have been teasing him so agonizingly all evening. The smell is intoxicating, all man and the promise of what’s to come. Louis dips his tongue into his belly button as his nimble fingers unbuckle Dermot’s belt and slowly, ever so slowly, he undoes the zipper. The moment his breath hits the wet patch on his briefs Dermot’s abs clench and stutter. “Fuck, yeah,” Dermot groans and lifts his hips, nudging his cock into Louis’ face. He opens his mouth and suckles on the head, soaking the material and mixing his saliva with the pre-come. It tastes amazing and he desperately wants to swallow him whole so he tugs at Dermot’s jeans and they slide down to his ankles without too much trouble, it’ll be far enough for what he has planned.

Dermot lowers his arse to the couch and Louis pushes his knees apart further so he can slot himself between them properly. He sits back on his heels, sliding his hands up the insides of Dermot’s thighs and digging his fingers under the legs of his boxer briefs. The coarse pubic hair is rough under his fingertips and he scratches at it languidly. When he looks up, he’s met with Dermot’s intense stare, mouth parted and little, puffed breaths causing his bottom lip to tremble. It’s quite a sight.

“You’re quite a sight,” Louis says, brain to mouth filter apparently having abandoned him entirely, which bodes less than well for the rest of the evening, Louis muses.

“Dunno ‘bout that, mate, but I reckon the view’s pretty good from where I’m sitting.”

Louis smiles, raises himself back up onto his knees and leans forward, letting their cocks push against each other deliciously as he seeks out a kiss. He’s rewarded immediately, Dermot using his strong stomach muscles to meet Louis half-way, cupping his face, and running his thumbs along the light scruff dusting his jawline.

His cock is begging for more, hard, and bordering on painful, but he has a mission so his own gratification will have to take a backseat for now.

He pushes at Dermot’s sternum and he goes easily, sinking back into the cushion, breathing laboured, fists balled at his sides. Louis trails his hands across his broad chest, along his collarbones, down to his nipples, tweaking them and pulling lightly at the fine hairs surrounding them.

“F-fuck…” Dermot stutters and Louis smirks, he’ll definitely file that information away for another time, at least he hopes there will be another time. “You’re such a tease, n-never would’ve picked it.”

“Really? I literally tease people for a living,” Louis deadpans as he lets his fingers drift down to the waistband of Dermot’s boxer briefs. “I hide away, up here, in my little glass tower…” he digs under the elastic band and creeps his fingers along the seam. “I hold my stories and characters captive, revealing nothing until I’m ready, even though people are begging for it…” he pulls at the band and slides the briefs down, tucking them under his balls, letting his cock spring free and slap on his stomach. “Begging for it so hard until they’re bursting for something, anything to give them a release…”

Louis leans down and hovers over Dermot’s cock and fuck it’s gorgeous. Hot and dripping and angry and red, pulsing, every heartbeat sending more and more blood to the shaft and head.

“I’ll fucking beg if that’s what you want, god Louis, please, please,” Dermot whimpers and Louis’ entire body thrums with the power and control it awards him.

Louis keeps his eyes fixed on Dermot’s as he licks a stripe all the way from the base to the tip, sticking his tongue into the slit before it bobs away from him with another pump of blood. It slaps back onto his chin and he tilts his head to swirl his tongue around the crown, letting his saliva drip from his mouth and coat the head completely.

“You could beg… but there’s no need. I’m gonna give you everything you want,” Louis says and sucks the head into his mouth. The taste is indescribable and Louis inhales sharply, letting himself be taken under by the feel of it on his tongue, the weight so perfect and exactly what he was yearning for.

“F-fuck, oh my god,” Dermot stammers and throws his head back. Louis tries to smirk but the girth of Dermot’s cock restricts him. He can feel himself becoming lost in all the sensations, the stretch of his mouth, the saliva building, his nostrils flaring as he attempts to get air into his lungs, the strain of his own neglected cock. It’s a heady combination.

Louis tugs Dermot’s briefs down to his ankles and noses his way back up his thighs to under his balls, licking and slurping like a starving man. Dermot’s thighs are trembling, the delicate skin turning pink as his scruff scratches at them lightly. Louis is definitely glad he didn’t shave now, he enjoys the thought of Dermot having a memento from their evening.

He uses one hand to steady the base and wraps his lips around the head, the other hand coming up between Dermot’s legs to cup his balls and roll them in his palm. He lets his saliva do its work, easing the glide as he starts to take more of his cock into his mouth, inch by inch, taking him in, retreating and gliding back down further with each movement.

Dermot pounds his fist into the couch, growling and straining with the effort to keep his hips still. Louis kneels up as high as he can go and hunches over Dermot’s lap, relaxing his throat to take the last inch, the head making him gag slightly, but he pushes on and finally, his nose is buried in the thick thatch of pubic hair. He swallows a few times, letting his muscles work Dermot over and the sounds he’s making give Louis a pretty good indication he’s enjoying it. Louis hums in appreciation as he pulls up slightly and Dermot very nearly flies off the couch.

“Holy mother of god, your fucking mouth!” Dermot shouts and Louis hums again, lower this time, letting the vibrations reverberate through Dermot’s cock and around his body. He speeds up his head movements, bobbing with a rhythmic pace and matching the motions with gentle tugs on Dermot’s balls. They’re tight up at the base of his cock and Louis can sense that he’s not going to last much longer so he goes back down and swallows a few more times, emitting a constant rumble from his throat.

“Jesus, fuck,” Dermot pounds on the couch over and over again. “Gonna come, gonna come!”

Louis pulls back just enough to stick his tongue into Dermot’s slit while he sucks on the head as if his life depends on it, and that's all it takes to push Dermot over the edge. He tenses, shudders and then Louis feels his warm, salty come spurt into his mouth. He swallows it down and sucks him gently through his orgasm and aftershocks, rubbing his hands up and down his thighs soothingly.

He lets Dermot’s spent cock slip from his mouth and tenderly places kisses on his stomach and up across his heaving chest. Dermot’s head snaps forward, sweat beading at his temples, eyes wild and crazed with lust.

Louis freezes, unsure of what Dermot is going to do, adrenaline thrumming through his veins. Dermot lurches forward, grabs Louis under the armpits and throws him onto the couch. He stands and kicks off his pants and socks and Louis watches, body shuddering with excitement.

He reaches down and pulls off Louis’ briefs roughly, throwing them over the back of the couch. “So fucking gorgeous. I swear to god,” Dermot says, staring down at him hungrily and Louis flushes all over at the attention. “Wanted to wreck you the moment I walked in here.”

Louis can definitely get on board with that. “Yeah? What’re you gonna do then?” There’s a challenge in his tone and he hopes Dermot can follow through.

He gets a growl in reply and Dermot leans over and grabs his hips, flipping him onto his stomach and spreading his legs. Louis feels the couch dip as he climbs back onto it and slots himself between his feet. Louis is disorientated for a split second until he realizes where this is going. He groans and arches his back, raising his arse in the air, face smushed into the couch.

“Fuck, look at you. So ready for it, yeah?” Dermot asks rhetorically and starts kneading his cheeks, pulling them apart and pushing them back together again. “Best goddamn arse I’ve ever seen. Such a tease, wandering around here in those bloody sweats all night, thought I was gonna implode.”

Louis whines and wiggles his arse for extra effect, desperately trying to egg him on. He’s so fucking hard and he’s sure he’s leaking onto the cushion. Dermot doesn’t make him wait though, diving in and licking a broad stripe from his balls, over his rim, to the top of his crack.

“Nrrrgghhh….” Louis moans as his hands try to get purchase on the slippery leather surface, but it’s a fruitless exercise. Dermot dives in and starts licking and sucking and nipping at his hole, all the while making obscene noises, or maybe those noises are coming from Louis own mouth, he can’t be sure but really, he couldn’t care less.

Louis needs to get some relief for his aching cock so he reaches down but Dermot notices and growls at him. “Don’t you fucking dare. Hands where I can see them.”

He groans and reaches forward to the arm of the couch, gripping onto it for dear life as Dermot goes at him mercilessly. He’s so close, even from only a few minutes, and he wants so desperately to come.

“Please, fuck, need to come, need to come, need to come…” Louis starts chanting, his breath hot as it pants out of him. He’s pushing back onto Dermot’s face, helplessly trying to get him inside. He doesn’t have to wait long though, Dermot breaching his rim with his tongue and shoving it in so deep that his vision whites out. “Yes!” Louis cries out as the pleasure ripples through his body.

He’s barely able to relax into it before he feels Dermot add a finger into the mix. The stretch is glorious and he mewls and whines so loudly it should probably be a little embarrassing but honestly, it feels so fucking good he doesn’t give a shit.

Dermot slides his finger in and out while he licks around his rim, bites on his cheeks, and sucks his balls. “Fuck, making such beautiful noises for me, don’t hold back, wanna hear you.”

Louis can definitely do that. “Yeah, yeah, more, come on,” he moans loudly and then he feels it, the fire in his stomach, the shooting spark of electricity, firing through his body as Dermot jabs into his prostate. “There!” He screams. “Right. Fucking. There!”

Once Dermot has found it, he doesn’t let up, pushing and prodding and rubbing at it relentlessly until Louis can barely breathe. He knows he isn’t going to last, it’s too much but at the same time, infuriatingly not enough to push him over into the abyss.

“You wanna come, baby?” Dermot asks and Louis nods violently.

“Gotta. Yeah, make me come, please, fuck…”

Finally, fucking finally, after what has felt like an eternity, Dermot reaches around his thigh and grabs ahold of his cock. It all happens so fast. Dermot pulls on his cock, rubs his prostate, suctions over his rim, shoves his tongue back inside, and growls. And that’s it. Louis lets go. He cries out in ecstasy and comes, hard, the whiteout behind his eyes returning as his whole body erupts, wave after wave of pleasure rampaging through every muscle and vein and bone, rocked to his core and gasping for air.

He’s vaguely aware of Dermot stroking him through it, placing kisses on his rim and arse, soothing him with soft words of praise, but it all seems so far away. He’s floating, lights and sounds swirling and filtering in and out of his consciousness. He wants to open his eyes but that seems like a ludicrously unachievable goal right now, so he dismisses the thought.

Strong hands roll him over onto his side and away from the pool of come that must be beneath him. He loses track of time as he drifts and then a warm cloth is wiping him down, that’s nice, thoughtful, this Dermot chap is a good egg and he chuckles to himself.

“You back with me then?” Dermot asks, a fondness in his voice and Louis could get used to that sound. He scrunches his nose and hears Dermot chuckle. “You’re really too cute for your own good, you know that right?”

“I’m not cute, I’m manly and tough,” Louis slurs out but even he doesn’t believe it, certainly not at this moment.

“Of course you are. So manly and tough, with that little scrunched up nose,” Dermot says and boops Louis’ nose for good measure. Louis swats at him but having not opened his eyes, he misses and earns himself a huffed laugh from Dermot.

Louis is suddenly tired, so tired, he wants to sleep for a million years, preferably with this lovely man beside him. “Sleepy.”

“Mhmmmm… me too.”

Louis forces his eyes open, the fog starting to lift and Dermot’s smiling face coming into focus. He reaches up and trails his fingers down the side of his face. “Come to bed with me? Stay?”

Dermot’s face breaks into a blinding smile and he cups his hand over Louis’, leaning into the touch. “Yeah?”

Louis nods slowly and smiles. “Yeah. There’s just two conditions… which are non-negotiable.”

Dermot expression changes to something faux-serious and Louis thinks it’s really quite adorable. “One, you have to carry me, because you’ve rendered my muscles inoperable.”

Dermot’s face relaxes and he laughs as he digs his hands underneath Louis legs and back and lifts him into the air with his strong arms like he weighs nothing. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Maybe, but you like me quite a lot,” Louis says cheekily.

“Yeah. Yeah, I do. Alright, your majesty, what’s the second condition?”

Louis wraps his arms around Dermot’s neck and leans up for a kiss. It’s chaste and perfect and Louis would probably melt if his body possessed the ability to do so. He pulls back and fixes Dermot with a sultry stare. “The second condition is… you have to fuck me in the morning.”

Dermot gazes down at him, and there’s so much fond oozing out of him that Louis feels blanketed in it. “That... can definitely be arranged.”

 

 

~~~~

_**1 year later…** _

 

“Tea?” Dermot asks as he comes into Louis’ line of sight, two steaming mugs in his hands.

“Mmmmm… you read my mind.” Louis takes his mug, blowing on the hot liquid over the rim.

Dermot sits down across the table, taps the touchpad of his laptop and starts scrolling as he sips his tea. Louis watches him, the sun streaming in and haloing around his head, softening his features. Louis’ breath catches in his throat and stares in wonder at how he got so lucky.

One year on and he is still amazed that this amazing man chose him, chose this life, leaping into the fray and craziness without fear or trepidation. It hasn’t all been smooth sailing, of course, but the bumps have barely slowed them. By tackling all of it together they’ve managed to thumb their noses at any issue that presented itself, dealing with every impediment swiftly.

“Yes!” Dermot shouts, pumping his fist in the air. “The museum has come to the party and we can have the space for the gala for free.”

Louis leans over and they high-five in the air. “That’s brilliant, babe, well done. I knew your charm offensive would win through in the end,” he says proudly. He really is so immensely proud. His boyfriend puts his all into his work every single day and the results are a testament to that. It had been a natural fit for him, his experience with charities, and his radio and television background, giving him the skills necessary to lead The Cyber Foundation. It’s gone from strength to strength under his leadership and their reach increases every day, Dermot having a knack for not only identifying the need, but also following through and delivering on their goals.

“Right. I’m gonna set a meeting with the sponsors and venue coordinators for next week and get this ball rolling. You want in on that?”

“Yeah, I’d love to. I’ll get Liam to organize our security for the meeting and the event,” Louis says and types away at a message to Liam. The security aspect of their lives is still an intrusive, but necessary measure. Dermot had taken it in his stride, understanding the requirement from the outset and how it would govern many of their decisions, both professionally and personally. A lesser man might have shied away, fought it, acted out, but not him. He went into it with his eyes wide open and has never once dismissed any concerns or made Louis feel like it was a burden.

Sure, there are things they can’t do. They can’t wander the streets hand in hand, can’t nip out to the shops or to a bar, can’t travel freely or take in a show without military-style planning, but they have an opportunity to do so much, for so many, it’s barely even a sacrifice.

Louis feels the brush of silky fur across his shins and he smiles. Pinky jumps up onto the chair beside him and then onto the table, wandering between their laptops and sitting himself down, eyeing Louis and then Dermot with a judgemental gaze as he waits for someone to lavish attention on him. Louis reaches out and scratches behind his ears, the soft grey hair standing to attention under his touch.

The rescue cat had been a one-month anniversary present from Dermot and Louis had fallen in love with the grumpy furball instantly. It had taken Pinky slightly longer to warm to Louis, but he now happily spends his days seeking out the best spots in the sun and playing with Dermot’s cat, Floyd. Pinky and Floyd, Pink Floyd. Yeah, so that’s a thing. Apparently, the name had sealed the deal for Dermot at the shelter, fate he’d called it, and Louis was inclined to agree. The four of them share Louis’ glass tower in the sky, although it feels much less like a fortress now and much more like a home.

Floyd leaps up onto the table to get in on the action and Louis chuckles, petting him as Dermot types away on his keyboard. It’s comfortable and domestic and Louis is beyond grateful that he gets to have this. For a long time, he thought it wasn’t going to be on the cards for him, that perhaps he’d used up all the tricks in the deck, but here he is, blissfully happy and content.

Money and fame are strange things. Everyone wants them, but few understand their impacts. They can make your dreams come true and bring a richness to your life, figuratively and literally. They can surround you in warmth, and drown you in loneliness, isolating you and leaving you cut off from the world. But they also bring opportunities to make people’s lives better, to help the least fortunate and provide hope and new beginnings. Louis likes to think that they have found the sweet spot, the balance between the dark and light, a way to give back and make a difference.

Dermot reaches his arms above his head and stretches out his back. “Fancy a swim?”

Louis ponders for a moment. “Hmmmm… I do,” a wry smile spreading across his face. “But I have two conditions.”

Dermot chuckles and nods. “Non-negotiables?”

“Yup.”

“Alright,” Dermot says and he stands and walks around the table. “Lay them on me then.”

“One. You have to carry me.” Louis raises his arms in the air and Dermot shakes his head fondly. He leans down and scoops Louis up out of his chair, holding him bridal-style, not an ounce of strain apparent on his face or in his stance.

“And the second condition?”

Louis leans in and whispers into his ear. “You have to fuck me in the hot tub.” He pulls back and stares intently into Dermot’s eyes, the crystal blue sparkling in the fading sunlight.

Dermot leans in and kisses him softly, just a hint of passion hidden under the surface. “That... can definitely be arranged.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed this.
> 
> Comments and kudos always appreciated!
> 
> Here's the [ Tumblr fic post ](https://jacaranda-bloom.tumblr.com/post/185608839458/the-cyber-sphere-by-jacaranda-bloom-explicit) if you feel like giving it a reblog. 💜
> 
> If you enjoyed this work you can subscribe [ here ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jacaranda_bloom/) to be notified when new works are posted!


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